All the Portfolios Will Crash So Get On Yer Toboggans and Slide!

Advertism IV 2025. Oil, acrylic and marker advertising on paper, 22 x 30"

You do see that the United States as an experimental colony has failed, yes? It has become a rogue state too brute and stupid to be allowed another day of power. Not a single day more. Every history taught to us has been an obfuscation, besides the clan stories, and at last count there were 5 still in tact—all of them migrantly indigenous, able to trace their roots from the Bering Land Bridge. It’s going to be a windy day in Oswego. And then it won’t be. And then it will again. Two Octobers ago, Rose and I fell upon a mass march in Cork, Ireland six days into the U.S. sponsored Palestinian genocide. I remember a young father with two little kids pointing his finger and yelling at an old bigot on the corner, as the latter berated the marchers for giving a damn. “Educate yourself!” the young father yelled back. And I will say the same on Ecency, and if it’s to deaf eyes and blind ears, then so be it, because I’ve already seen what people identifying with nations really think of the Golden Rule and living a life of wabi outside a dog and cat food factory.

I will be kind and not care. For me the enemy has always been any noun that will get me killed. A politician, a punk, some poisonous peck of nightshade potatoes.

There is an out. Let the portfolios lie where they are and re-make life like a 20 year old. Just get a job and somewhere to live. It’s gonna make you become friends with people again. You’ll taste the yeast in the bread. You will chop wood, carry water and hold as many shares in Boeing, Inc. that Old P’ang had on the morning he gave up the ghost—the same portfolio your daughters and sons carry off on the evening of their high school graduation parties. There are no leaders, no wise ones, no safe way out. Like I tell my 81 year old mother when she fears for the future… Climb in the toboggan and slide down the hill with your arms in the air. “Wheeeeeee!”. Role off, climb (or be carried) back up the hill, and slide down again. Repeat until you don’t anymore.

It’s no big thing. Just time. And it’s coming to an end/beginning none of us understand, yet each of us attaches to miserably most days, believing we have the power to control it.

Let the stupid countries die and be people again.

How about another painting? Wheeee!

Please Take Me Before Rose, or If Possible, at the Same Time 2025. Oil on canvas, 54 x 54"

On a more practical note…

Rose and I are beginning a series of collaborative paintings. I’ve cleared a wall upstairs, out of the dust and fumes of a musty basement, and purchased a bright LED shop light for our pop-up studio above ground. We hope to finish six large square pieces over the fall and winter months, but will be happy with one we can call a success. If we complete the lot, there will be a spring show and a new book on how to illuminate the color of a marriage.

This is not marital therapy. Just an infusion of cool into a couple warm, but over-laxative lives.

Stay tuned.